The Melody Quartet: Advantage
by Ex Atris Scientia
Summary: Albert Wesker gains a new ally. Here is the beginning of that alliance - a story with psychotic parents, death, psionic powers and rapid life changes.  Summary will probably change. Rated T, for more matures Ts. OC and Wesker, non-romantic. Please R&R :
1. The Perfect Family

_Author's Note: I do not own anything within the Resident Evil Universe, though I do own Hannah/Annabelle/Melody._

_I am new to the world of fanfiction, and this is my first story. It is the first installment of a quartet that I will write, but I really need the reviews and constructive feedback on fleshing out characters, emotions, and action. _

_Think of this story as the prequel. The next installment I write will get to the really good stuff! I look forward to all your reviews!_

Chapter One: The Perfect Family

The glass of water slipped from Annabelle's hands, shattering on the terracotta tiles of the patio. Her breath hitched in her chest as her eyes went carefully blank.

"Annabelle?" an imperious voice sounded from within the mansion. _Oh no_ echoed from the depths of her mind, bouncing off the walls of her skull. Her face stayed serene though. To have it otherwise only tempted more trouble. As Annabelle heard the click of heels approaching from behind her, she sighed and turned to face her mother.

"I apologize Mother," Annabelle said quickly. Her voice was perfectly modulated, soft and feminine, measured with each word carefully enunciated. Perhaps years with a voice coach would pay off in this moment and sooth her mother's temper. She had no such luck.

Elena Davenport, Annabelle's mother, coldly took in the scene before her before turning her ice blue eyes on her daughter. Her body, every inch the appearance of an elegant lady from the ivory unblemished skin to the artfully coiled blonde hair on her head to a cream suit over a silk sapphire blue blouse and matching heels, was tight with disapproval. There was no real emotion on her face, but Annabelle felt the waves of Elena's disapproval crashing onto her. "How?" was all Elena asked.

Annabelle's eyes went demurely to her black flats, focusing on their shiny buckles. She could almost make out the details of her fuzzy, warped reflection. Though she kept her face blank of emotion, Annabelle could not stop her hands from shaking ever so slightly as she smoothed her red velvet dress her mother had picked out for her that day, despite the warm weather. She took a deep breath, knowing those waves of disapproval would turn into a tempest once she gave her answer. "I tripped on the tile, Mother. While trying to regain my balance, the glass slipped from my hand and crashed on the floor." Looking up she continued quickly, eager to please her mother who now was breathing shallowly in deep anger. "I jumped back to spare my stockings of any splash, though."

Elena's eyes glanced to her daughter's shins, and saw the white stockings unmarked. Her gray eyes went even colder, lips smirking sardonically. "And that is supposed to excuse your carelessness, your unladylike deportment?" Elena asked slowly, mockingly. Annabelle did not answer. She already knew there was nothing she could say; she could see the back board chair looming in her mind's eye. "Perhaps," Elena continued, her voice so cold it could have given ice freezer bite. "You need a lesson in ladylike deportment."

Time stretched for a few minutes as Annabelle felt her stomach drop and her ears roar. While she knew it was coming, she could not help her visceral reaction. "Your figure is off," her mother barked suddenly. "It is time to work on your posture for the day. Clearly it has been too long, for it has caused your lapse in grace."

Annabelle could hardly react before her mother grabbed her wrist and took her to the uppermost corridor of the Western Wing of the mansion they lived in, the capstone of a sprawling estate. Annabelle, panicking, tried to pull her wrist from her mother's gripped, straining to stop her legs from moving forward. "Mother, no!"

Elena turned to Annabelle, furious. "Now you are disrespecting your mother?" She cried shrilly. "You act as some kind of common trash, Annabelle, and I will not abide my daughter behaving in such a way! You are a Davenport, a daughter of the leading family in the name of genetic research, one of the highest standing families in society, and yet _you_ act like some sort of trollop!" Elena looked frenzied in her anger, gasping in air as she shook. "How _dare_ you behave in such a way!"

Annabelle was terrified of her mother in this moment. She always feared her mother, but now seeing the older woman shake, hearing her shrill voice all the while maintaining a calm face, terrified Annabelle to her very bones. "I'm sorry, Mother," she whispered out, too scared to say anything louder. "It was just a glass."

_SLAP_.

Annabelle clutched her reddened cheek in shock. She did not register her mother grabbing her wrist again and start pulling, but she did hear her mother's voice, as if from very far away. "If you insist on acting like garbage, I shall treat you as such. Perhaps that will encourage you to appreciate my lessons as an alternative."

Suddenly she sat in it. The chair. It was old, looking like a throne. Cast iron locking bands were open at shoulder length. These were strapped tightly around her shoulder, as two more locking bands tightened around her waist. Annabelle's torso was immobilized. It was an old technique used to teach girls appropriate posture, meant for an hour or two. Annabelle was never in the chair for so short a time, and she doubted this would be any different. Her body was numb with trepidation as she waited to hear how long she would be forced to deal with such agony at her mother's hands.

Elena did not make her wait long, though her answer shocked Annabelle. "You will be in that chair for three hours," Elena announced, tone businesslike. "At that point you are to ready yourself for a guest this afternoon. You know who it will be." Elena smiled in genuine pleasure and walked away.

Annabelle did not bother to squirm or figure a way out of the chair. She was just deliriously happy to only be in the chair for three hours. It was the shortest she could ever remember being in the chair. Annabelle just sat frozen like a statue for the next three hours. Her body remembered the positioning of the chair. What Annabelle could not remember what number this trip to the chair made. She just looked ahead at the white wall opposite for her, waiting to be released.

Annabelle stepped off her balcony into her room. It was richly decorated with dark mohagany furniture offset by wine red walls. Annabelle moved to her opulent four poster bed. Looking down upon it, she briefly was seized by the urge to fall backwards onto the feather mattress and laugh as her legs flew up. Instead she sat primly on the embroidered coverlet. She never knew where her mother would be.

Suddenly the door opened. Annabelle did not dare jump up, expecting Elena. Sighing in relief she allowed her posture to relax an inch when she saw it was her maid, Jezebel. Jezebel was a fiery person, Latina and Portugese. At five feet five, she was a beauty with creamy bronze skin, bright amber eyes and constantly smiling lips. The woman gave off such an air of carefree youth that it was hard to remember that Jezebel was in fact twenty-eight, and had been Annabelle's maid for ten years, since Annabelle was seven years old.

Jezebel's eyes lit up with warmth. "Hello, Annie," she greeted. Annabelle loved that nickname. She loved any nickname. Anything was better than Annabelle._ I hate Annabelle_.

"Hello Jezebel," Annabelle smiled, relishing the company. Life felt a bit easier when Jezebel was around. Jezebel never insisted on any propriety. Jezebel would sneak her hotpockets when she was younger, a fare forbidden to her by her parents. Her father obsessed over what she ate, and decreed long ago that nothing prepared in a microwave would ever touch his daughter's lips. Annabelle loved hotpockets.

Jezebel looked quizzically at her as she unzipped the plastic bag she had carried into the room, "Where were you this afternoon babydoll?" Jezebel always talked to her that way, like a real mother. Annabelle felt so happy to hear the little nicknames, the little signs of affection. Jezebel basically raised her, under the strict guidelines of her parents, and tried to fudge what she could. Annabelle knew Jezebel pitied her, for all she was the maid of the rich Annabelle Davenport. Annabelle used to feel uncomfortable knowing this, but now she craved this pity, another sign of affection. "I expected you to be reading by your balcony."

Annabelle forced a smile. "I was occupied with lessons under my mother's tutelage." Annabelle could feel the revulsion rising within her at the thought of her mother, and quickly put a cap on her emotions. _I can't let Mother have any inkling, or any possibility of any inkling, or I fear what else she could do to me._ Annabelle promptly stopped her thinking as well, before it became rebellious. She was now convinced after living years with her mother that Elena has some sort of ESP concerning Annabelle's emotions. Which just meant that her mind and heart were never safe.

Jezebel stopped what she was doing, placing the plastic bag on Annabelle's bed. Placing her hands on her hips, she pinned the young woman with her eye. "Which was it? Standing for hours with five pounds of books on your head, or sitting in that blasted chair?" Jezebel's musical voice was tightly angry, revealing a slight accent from her youth. Annabelle knew Jezebel was careful with her speech. Elena could not abide accents.

Annabelle did not even consider hiding the truth from Jezebel. Her maid had figured out years ago what Annabelle's parents put their only child through, but instead of leaving in disgust, Jezebel resolved to stay for Annabelle's sake, and do what she could to give the girl as normal a childhood as she could. That meant bringing her laptop to show Annabelle twenty minutes of sesame street, making hotpockets, sneaking Annabelle an iPod with whatever music besides classical that Elena demanded played that she could. For the past year, it also meant sneaking  
Annabelle out of the house to parties and clubs owned by Jose, Jezebel's brother. Those nights were as cherished to Annabelle as her mother's diamonds were as cherished to Elena, only not as commonly come by.

"The chair," Annabelle informed Jezebel neutrally. "I needed to improve my posture after breaking a glass. I feel it helped, don't you?" Annabelle always did that – approve of her mother's actions, her father's obsessions, as if they were secretly in the room. _You never know where they are. I would rather be rewarded for an aside comment._

Jezebel pursed her lips, hot anger playing in her eyes. Annabelle looked back, smiling steadily, if a little sadly. Jezebel recognized that smile. It was the smile Annabelle gave whenever she felt the trappings of her gilded cage a little too tightly. "That's it," Jezebel promptly said. "Out with the contacts."

Annabelle started and glanced at the grandfather clock by her bedroom door. She was confused. She only was allowed to take out her contacts when she was going to bed. It was a part of what her father obsessed over – her physical appearance. Since the day they moved into their mansion, Annabelle had been made to wear blue colored contacts. "To make my little porcelain princess doll absolutely perfect," her father had smiled down at her. At seven years old, Annabelle had grinned at being her father's princess. After a while Annabelle had stopped grinning. "But it is not yet evening," she reminded Jezebel.

"Yes," Jezebel agreed. "But you are to take a bath now, and this is a good time to let your hair down and wash your contacts before your guests arrive." That said, Jezebel left to Annabelle's connecting bathroom to draw a bath in the large sunken alabaster tub. Annabelle stood and walked into the large bathroom as her maid poured perfumed oils into the water. The room was filled with the scent of lavender and sweet pea. Closing her eyes Annabelle breathed deep, a tight knot in her chest she did not know was there loosening.

"Thank you Jezebel," Annabelle said to her maid, happiness ringing in every syllable. Annabelle was fully aware that she probably would have gone insane had Jezebel not been in her life. Shaking her head at such folly thoughts, Annabelle turned to her mirror and removed her contacts, placing them in their little dish with cleaning solution. She registered Jezebel turning the water off of the bath, and returning to the bedroom to lay out her clothes for the afternoon. It was just past one o'clock.

She slowly ventured a glance up into her reflection, and stared into her own true eyes. So rarely does she see their true chocolate color. It was like staring at a stranger. No, some features were familiar. There was her straight nose, her full red lips, arching eyebrows, slender neck, pretty bone-structure. But then there was her hair and her skin, both obsessions of her father. The same day she moved with her family into their mansion, her father took her to a salon and paid for her hair to be dyed blonde. Never again did she see her natural hair color, which she could just remember was a brown of some sort. There were no pictures of her when she was young, so Annabelle could not be quite sure. Not that it mattered. Annabelle was blonde haired.

Her father was equally obsessed with her skin. There were no beauty marks, no freckles, no warts, no blemishes, no tanlines. Her whole body was just the same creamy, glowing color. Whenever she went outside, she was always smothered with sun block and made to wear a hat. She loathed the smell of sunblock, it made her want to retch every time. Not that she ever did. No, that would not be ladylike, that would not be perfect, that would not be the spitting image of wealth her parents strived every day to emulate. It would be normal, simple, common. Annabelle was not allowed to be normal, simple or common. She must be Annabelle Davenport, a gentle beauty, every movement an effortless display of ladylike deportment.

Coming back to her reflection, Annabelle was shocked to see her features twisted in anger. Quickly, scared, she schooled her features back into a calm mask. Stepping away from her mirror that reflected too much, Annabelle let down her hair that was piled and pinned on her head to hang to her waist, and slipped out of her clothing, handing everything to a silent Jezebel.

Gracefully she stepped into the tub and sat down, enjoying the lavender and sweet pea scents as it relaxed the muscles in her back. They were not sore from the back board. She had survived much longer and again was shocked that she only had to deal with three hours. Annabelle leaned back, her fair hair floating around her as she thought of Elena's words. Her mother had mentioned a guest, a guest that Annabelle knows of. It gave Annabelle a feeling that this afternoon and evening was what her parents had been working and waiting years for. It was a dinner party, honoring a fellow colleague's progress into vaccine work against AIDS. Annabelle doubted that is what mattered to her parents tonight, for all they planned and hosted this party.

The guest. That is what mattered. All her life, Annabelle was told that she was perfect and was being made perfect for one person. Her looks were refined to appeal to one person. Her clothing was tailored to emphasis her beauty for one person. She was homeschooled and had excelled far past her peers so she may be entered into college early and impress that one person. She was built up, created by her parents into this perfect image for ten years. Annabelle knew that. They told her that themselves. None of it was to enrich her. It was all to make her into an offering for the guest. Everyday Annabelle worked hard at her lessons and every night Annabelle prayed she would be good enough to please this guest so they may take her away. And now that day was here.

She was relieved. She felt a small twinge of hope surge through her veins, getting stronger as a thought formed deep in her mind, floating up slowly. _Everything might change now_.

Annabelle stepped out of the tub, trailing water droplets from her body as she walked to her towel. Drying, she wrapped the towel around herself and approached the bed. _What has mother picked out for me now?_ Elena always picked out what Annabelle would wear, after conferring with her father of course. Her clothing was always lovely, made of rich cloth and elegantly put together. She was curious this time though, because it appears her parents bought her a special outfit. A gift. Annabelle wished she could see it as such.

It was a pretty dress. Its skirt, waist, back and arms were a gorgeous sapphire blue, while its bust was white, shining in contrast to the dark blue. It looked so similar to that character in Titanic that her mother allowed her to watch parts of, to gain lessons in ladylike deportment and speech. Jezebel helped her get into the dress, making appreciative noises, telling Annabelle how pretty she was. Asking Annabelle if she wanted to see herself in the mirror, Annabelle shook her head. She loved seeing the finished product of Jezebel's work. With that, her maid got to work on braiding the majority of her hair, curling some tendrils that did not fold easily into the braid. Annabelle sat patiently through the whole process, which was second nature to her now, as Jezebel applied her makeup, put on her stockings and matching blue heels, jewelry, and most importantly her contacts. When Jezebel was finally finished, Annabelle stood and walked to her standing mirror.

She looked like a doll. A perfect porcelain doll. Not a hair out of place. Bright, vibrant colors and features. Everything was too perfect, too set. Annabelle suddenly wanted to rip the dress off of her and light it on fire. Its skirt was too restricting, and she swore its bodice just tightened by an inch. She wanted to smear her perfect makeup, her hands ached to take a pair of scissors to her heavy long hair that was currently braided. She could not take any of it. She could barely breathe. Gasping, the world swirled around her. Lifting a hand to her temple, she did not hear her door open.

"What goes on here?" demanded a mid ranged male voice. Her father, James, rushed past Jezebel to his daughter, catching her as she swooned. Jezebel's voice came from far away, unintelligible. Annabelle's eyes fluttered, finally staying open and focusing on James' face.

"Father," she murmured as he helped to stand. "I apologize, I must have spent too long in the bath."

James' brown eyes looked into hers, eyebrows together in concern. He looked very brown today – brown hair, brown eyes, brown suit, brown shoes. He was less dangerous than Elena, at least in the obvious sense. Annabelle still did not feel safe with him. While Elena was brutal, James was driven and would not be deterred. Annabelle's near faint only fed his fervor now.

James fingers squeezed reflexively as he looked over her paler than normal complexion. Biting his lips, James relaxed his hands, glancing at her arms to ensure he did not mark her skin. "When have you eaten last?" he demanded, his voice a whine. He already had the answer of course, for he had developed her eating schedule. Annabelle had eaten a salad for lunch that day, as he prescribed, every ingredient of the salad exactly measured out. Annabelle told him this.

James frowned. "Then why are you faint?" he demanded, annoyed. He stood her up on her feet. Annabelle shook her head slightly in confusion. She had already told him she had taken a bath, and believed the hot steam was too much for her. Of course he did not listen to her though, he never did. Turning away from her father Annabelle allowed herself the luxury of rolling her eyes. There was nothing Annabelle could possibly say about her own self that could be correct.

"I told you Father, I spent too much time in the bath. I need water. Jezebel?" Annabelle asked, turning to her maid. Her maid nodded and walked out of the room. The slim woman stood aside for Elena, who now sweeped into the room. She, surprisingly, was still wearing the same outfit. Elena was known for wearing five different outfits a day. Jezebel glanced back to Annabelle before leaving.

Annabelle stood stock-still as her mother coolly approached the two. A smile graced Elena's features. "My dear daughter, you look simply lovely." Elena turned to her husband, eyes bright. "Don't you think so my dear?" James turned to Annabelle, slowly picking apart her appearance.

Annabelle hated when they did this. She felt like those purebred dogs on a little tier being poked and prodded until she assumed the proper pose, then looked at without any respect for modesty or personal space. Her parents literally circled her in their inspection. And so Annabelle stood there like a show dog.

"She looks perfect," her father breathed. "We've done a good job."

Annabelle mind and body felt strained, her calm suddenly stretched thin. Annabelle struggled to maintain her calm demeanor even as she felt her soul screaming. She was shocked to the bone. It was as if her entire body was trying to rebel. She desperately wanted to turn to her balcony and jump over its edge, convinced anything such a leap provided were better than her life in this cold mansion. Never had Annabelle felt so utterly consumed by emotion, never had Annabelle ever felt the urge to run at her parents screaming with her outreached fingers curled like claws to rip their eyes out.

Annabelle smiled at her parents, counting to ten until her wild emotions subsided. As Annabelle breathed, her parents spoke of that night's party and the guest. Annabelle latched onto the conversation desperately. The guest, her knight in shining armor. Annabelle was determined that he would be her ticket out of this mansion. All Annabelle knew was that the guest was a man.

"Remember, Annabelle," her mother started. "You know how to act, what to say. We need you to bring this guest under your sway. It is what we have been striving for." Elena's face went hard. "Do no fail."

Annabelle's eyes surveyed the Turkish rug below their feet. "I wont fail Mother," she replied with a quiet passion. She looked up to see Jezebel return with a glass of water. It looked identical to the glass Annabelle dropped that morning. She glanced at her parents. A quickly look at her father told her that Elena had informed him about Annabelle's mishap that morning. James now was looking over her with concern, waiting for another sign of weakness. Annabelle was sure that if she had dropped the glass again, her father would have an apoplexy, convinced there was something wrong with her central nervous system's communication with her muscles.

Annabelle looked at her mother. Elena stared at her, her eyes full of contempt as she waited for Annabelle to drop the glass again. She wanted desperately to stare her mother right in the eye as she gulped water down, but no. Annabelle dropped her eyes meekly to the ground as she took the glass from Jezebel, smiling her thanks before taking a little sip.

Elena nodded slightly as a man walked to the door of Annabelle's bedroom suite. It was Edgars, the butler. Annabelle's breath hitched in her throat. This was it, she was sure of it. She would meet the guest.

James stepped forward. "Yes, Edgars?"

Edgars bowed his head, every inch the classic British butler with the suit, the accent, and the stiff mannerisms. "An Albert Wesker has arrived, sir. He is being shown his rooms for the evening."

"Thank you Edgars. When Dr. Wesker has settled in, please escort him to the Conservatory," James dismissed the man. Edgars bowed and left to return downstairs. James and Elena looked at each other, eyes alight. "The time is upon us," murmured Elena, a slight flush of excitement bringing life to her cheeks. She turned to Annabelle, beckoning as she walked to the door.

"Come, my dear. Let us wait for our guest to settle in."

Annabelle fought the sudden urge to run down the stairs. These urges were disturbing to Annabelle, barely able to be controlled and yet they were almost like hints of fresh air entering her lungs. Mentally shaking her head, she followed her mother out of her room, thoughts swirling around the guest currently settling in for the night on the opposite end of the mansion.


	2. My Advantage

_Author's Note: I do not own anything within the Resident Evil Universe, though I do own Hannah/Annabelle/Melody._

_I am new to the world of fanfiction, and this is my first story. It is the first installment of a quartet that I will write, but I really need the reviews and constructive feedback on fleshing out characters, emotions, and action. _

Chapter Two: My Advantage

Annabelle heard steps approaching through the large hallway. She heard her father's whiney voice, no doubt trying to say something pretentiously charming. Annabelle blinked, surprised at her own thoughts. Once again, her thoughts got away from her. She glanced at Elena, convinced she would see her mother's icy glare pinning her to her seat. Instead, Elena smiled as a kitchen maid laid a tray for tea on the table before them. Annabelle's ear picked up a deeper voice answer her father, who responded with laughter. _So that is his voice. The guest who will take me away._ She suddenly doubted whether her parent's grand plan to bring this person under their sway would work. _It has to. I can't be stuck here any longer!_

The click of shoes heralded the arrival of her father and the guest around the corner into the Conservatory. Annabelle carefully schooled her features into politeness as she took in the man who now stood before her. He was tall and broad-shouldered with a slight tan. His face had strong lines, accented by dark sunglasses. Annabelle did not understand why he wore them, it was not especially bright in the Sun Room. Giving a mental shrug she noted his dark slacks and black silk shirt, shiny darks shoes winking at his feet.

Elena stood and smiled gracefully. "Welcome to our home, Dr. Wesker. We are pleased you were able to accept our invitation this afternoon before the party tonight." Elena's tone was bright and warm. It raised the hairs on Annabelle's neck. Her mother sounded so foreign at the moment.

"Quite right, Dr. Wesker," her father agreed. Annabelle struggled not to laugh as she listened to her father attempt to sound booming and king-like. _Really, Father? Laying it on rather thick are we?_ Annabelle had no time to try to figure out why a steady feeling of contempt was suddenly swirling within her, after years of keeping a lid on such emotions. _Perhaps my self control has suffered in light of the excitement I have been feeling around the arrival of this guest, this Dr. Wesker._

The man named Wesker gave her parents a cool, polite smile. "It would be uncouth of me to deny such a gracious invitation from a top official of The Agency, Dr. Davenport. We have had such an amiable relationship." Annabelle loved his voice. It was so unlike her father's in every way. Her father never ceased to sound like a whiney boy-child. Wesker though sounded strong, yet icy. Annabelle admired the cold depth of his voice, and noting his restrained strength under his shirt and the air of authority around him as he turned is head away from his host after her father insisted Wesker call him James to survey Annabelle, she could not help but raise her eyebrow slightly and question just who was in charge of this meeting: her parents or this man named Wesker?

"Is this the daughter I have heard so many whispers about, James?" This was it. This was the moment her parents worked for throughout Annabelle's memory. It was time for Annabelle to enter the stage and impress this dark man.

James clapped his hands together, and smiling roguishly, or rather attempting to. "I daresay it is. Stand up, my dear, and greet our guest."

With the unconscious grace of a swan, Annabelle smiled and, locking eyes with the man before her, at least as well as she could with a man who wore dark glasses, stood to step forward. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Elena signal for her to look shyer and more demure, _more ladylike_, but Annabelle ignored her to continue staring this man boldly in the eye. This man would not be impressed with some simpering lady such as what her parents grew her into.

Elena looked at her daughter out of the corner of her eye as if concerned as she began her introduction. "Dr. Albert Wesker, if we may present – "

Annabelle cut her off. "Annabelle Davenport, Dr. Albert Wesker." She raised her hand to shake his, noting her mother's body stiffening at the interruption. It was the most flagrantly rebellious thing she had done in a long time. Annabelle felt a rush at her own actions, causing her to smile a little coyly at the man before her as he accepted her handshake.

"It is nice to actually meet you, Miss Davenport," he informed her, smirking slightly. "From the way your father goes on, I had expected to meet some ethereal goddess."

"Oh?" Annabelle raised her eyebrows slowly, glanced in mirth at her father, who watched the exchange dazily in fascination. Her mother had a pinched smile on her face, still not recovered from Annabelle's disrespect. "Don't tell me you are disappointed, Mr. Wesker. We had so wanted to meet every expectation of yours around your visit here and excel past them." Her voice gushed slightly in exaggerated worry.

Wesker's blond eyebrows rose slightly. Apparently the Davenport girl had some semblance of spark. When he first approached her, he expected a clone to her simpering mother. He withdrew his hand from hers. "I am far from disappointed, Miss Davenport."

Annabelle smiled in reassurance, yet she could feel the contempt for the entire situation trying to show. She worried for a moment that it revealed itself in her eyes, but in a moment of selfish freedom decided not to care.

Quiet stretched on for enough seconds to make things awkward. Then Elena spoke. "_Dr_. Wesker," Annabelle did not miss the emphasis on _doctor_ her mother made as she spoke. "Now that you have settled in somewhat, perhaps you would like a tour of our home?"

Wesker seemed to look around at his surroundings. "A tour would no doubt be enjoyable." He turned to Elena, smiling slightly. "Might I have the pleasure of your company, Mrs. Davenport?"

Elena laughed gaily as Annabelle wondered at the charm of this guest of theirs. He was very charming. Elena's voice was delighted as she replied, "No, unfortunately not, Dr. Wesker. I have some details to attend to for tonight's soiree. Annabelle though will be more than happy to show you around, wouldn't you my dear?"

Annabelle did not miss the underlying message of her mother's words. This was not a request but an order, and an excuse to get them alone so that Annabelle can wow the Dr. Wesker. Nodding, Annabelle agreed.

"Excellent!" announced James. Annabelle nearly started – she had forgotten her father was there! That was always the case when the unremarkable man was around strong personalities. Even Annabelle's mother eclipsed her father. A small part of her mind wondered what it felt like to be forgotten in your own home only to realize that she knew exactly what that felt like. Annabelle the person was forgotten in this great mansion, only Annabelle the doll mattered. Perhaps that was who spoke and acted so boldly, the Annabelle everyone had long forgotten, even Annabelle herself. In her musings she barely registered her parents saying they would see them later that evening, leaving her and this strange guest that elicited such odd behavior alone.

The darkly clad man and the young girl stood for a moment surveying each other. Then, smiling, Annabelle began to lead Albert Wesker back into the house, wondering where to take him first.

"Who is this?" Wesker picked up a silver framed photo. Annabelle had taken him through various sitting rooms, drawing rooms, family rooms, the gardens, commenting on the history of the house the whole time. Now they stood in a room filled with photos and paintings of members of the Davenport family through the past generations. Annabelle walked him briefly through her family tree, describing the birth of her family's interest in science. Wesker nodded at the right moments and asked the right interested questions, but Annabelle was not fooled – Wesker could care less. He was just doing what every scientist seeking power in the organization her parents were a part of – feigning interest to garner political capital. He wanted the power that an alliance with her parents would provide. That was why her parents molded her into who she was, because they knew Wesker wanted an allegiance with them, and they wanted him under their thumb. She was the perfect tool to influence his actions to favor their wishes.

Annabelle stepped closer to the photo. It was difficult to see in the room. It was not visited often, its windows facing the south so not much light poured in. The photo Wesker held was of a small brunette girl around age seven, sitting in a tree covered in mud. The girl was very familiar to Annabelle.

After a slight pause she responded. "Her name was Hannah. She liked to climb trees," Annabelle explained dismissively, turning away and walking towards the center of the large room. "We should ready for the party tonight. My parents expect two hundred people in attendance. I will have Edgars show you back to your rooms."

Wesker raised his eyebrows, but nodded. "A good idea, Miss Davenport," he agreed as the aged butler appeared at the doorframe. Wesker gave one more look at the little brunette girl in the photo before returning it to its place and following Annabelle and Edgars out.

Glasses clinked among sounds of light conversation around Annabelle as she moved through the crowd towards the bar. Breathing deep she savored the sweet perfume of the large bouquets of gardenias spread throughout the ball room as she surveyed those around her. There were her parents laughing with a group of scientists. In a distant corner of the room, she could see Wesker deep in conversation with a biologist from her father's lab. Annabelle was surprised to see him still wearing his dark sunglasses. Everyone else was insignificant, just scientists from the myriad of branches within The Agency, and from other pharmaceutical companies, biology departments of universities, and private research institutions. Annabelle never interacted with them, nor had she any desire to.

The man at the bar smiled and asked what she would like. Annabelle asked for a Shirley temple with extra cherries. Waiting for her drink to be made she let herself admire her mother's decorative touch. Tall electric candelabras stood along the walls, helping the large crystal chandelier above cast light on the easy going partiers below. Gauzy silver drapes flowed at the doorways to balconies. Men and women in smart looking jackets moved gracefully among the people with trays of drink and appetizers.

Hearing glass settle on varnished wood, Annabelle turned to see her drink before her. Smiling elegantly, Annabelle took her drink and moved to a balcony. On the way she could not help but glance at where Wesker was, only to find he was no longer in conversation. She did not let herself look around for the man, but rather continued on to a fairly deserted balcony. Her mother had impressed upon her before the party that she must tempt Wesker to come to her. Annabelle did not care about what her mother said, and she did not want to chase after their guest. She just wanted to enjoy the balcony away from the burning gaze of her ever critical parents.

A cool breeze kissed her arms. Breathing deeply she smiled to herself, looking up at the stars. The scent of gardenia filled the air even more thickly out here on the balcony. Here she could pretend the party did not exist, and that she was the happy child of kind parents. Exploring the fantasy more, tears glimmered in her eyes as a tight fist squeezed in her heart. Maybe she would not fantasize about happy families.

Instead she turned her mind to the dark emotions that were brewing inside her. All day long she had little slips, little slips of self control she could not afford. Annabelle's eyebrows came together. She worried she would soon no longer be able to contain her senses of resentment and contempt. Annabelle started breathing slowly, hoping that her trick from over the years would preserve her now. She stayed like that for a few minutes, sipping her drink and fishing out cherries when she heard a cultured voice speak behind her. "Good evening, Ms. Davenport."

Annabelle turned and turned on the smile as her red silk chiffon dress whispered around her. Albert Wesker stood there dressed in a black on black tuxedo. The girl was beginning to suspect that black was all the man possessed. _Not that he does not own the color_. It was time to be an obedient daughter.

"Good evening, Mr. Wesker. I hope you are enjoying the party." Looking past his shoulder she could see her mother discreetly watching them as two women gossiped with her. Annabelle was suddenly seized with a strong desire to roll her eyes. It unnerved her, this further demonstration of a slipping self-control. In this house, a loss of self-control could lead to many dark things. She mentally shook herself of a rising despair, and focused on the blond man before her. Once again, he wore dark sunglasses. Annabelle did not know if she should be amused or confused. She settled for polite, and smiled softly.

Wesker smiled slightly, glancing down to the drink in his hand before looking back up. "Yes, it is quite informative." He drank from the brandy. Annabelle took the opportunity to sip her own drink, and found herself wishing it was something stronger.

"Informative?" she inquired lightly, watching as he walked over to her. He moved very gracefully, yet there was something darkly feral in his stride. Once again Annabelle noted the restrained power that he gathered around him. She turned to him and watched the moonlight play over his features. Locking her eyes on his, or where she assumed they were, she continued to drink.

"Yes, my conversation with Dr. Withers was quite enlightening," he replied smoothly, giving nothing away. His teeth flashed in an amused grin, as if laughing at a private joke. Annabelle knew the man as her father's main research rival.

"Something related to genetics, I'm sure." Wesker's smile turned a little sarcastic. He realized she was trying to pry. Annabelle smiled sweetly, eyes still locked on his as she continued, "Well I am glad this evening is stimulating for you."

The breeze tugged at some loose tendrils of her hair. If he chose to be coy in his answers, she could be coy in her responses.

Wesker placed his glass on the balcony edge, looking at her. "Quite stimulating, my dear," he murmured. For a moment he regarded her. "Would you care to dance?"

Annabelle placed her drink next to his, and took his hand. "It would be a pleasure," she murmured back. Now she had a moment to do what her mother wished. As they turned back to the ballroom, Annabelle could see a small smile of satisfaction on Elena's lips. Again she resisted rolling her eyes, even as she allowed Wesker to sweep her onto the floor.

Wesker studied the girl-child in his arms as he led her through a waltz on the dance floor. He was not surprised to see she danced perfectly. As the Davenport girl smiled up at him, Wesker considered his next step. It was clear this girl was smitten with him. She would be quite an advantage to have in his plan to lay siege to James Davenport's private labs below the mansion, private labs that of course were not included on his estate tour. He had recently come to discover Davenport's project around enhancing the mind and its mental powers, and after months of work he was now close to refining a serum that would enhance a subject's mental abilities.

Wesker wanted this data. If this data was indeed true, then Wesker had the final key to becoming a god. Of course Wesker was evolved far beyond humans physically. Now it was time to enhance his mind beyond that of high intelligence.

So plans were already in place tonight to attack Davenport's labs. Mercenaries were by now setting up, to be let in by Wesker later that night while they scanned the estate for access to its lower levels. The last thing he needed was access to those labs. And for that, this Davenport girl would no doubt be the perfect tool. If he needed, he would manipulate her as he would any other woman and use her to access her father's labs. After all, he needed a plan in case his mercenaries failed to get him in.

He smiled down at the lovely girl in his arms, and planned while running his thumb lightly over her skin. She blushed and glanced down. It was ridiculously easy to sway her. He smirked and spun her around. A few more displays of intense attention such as this, and the girl would be malleable should he need access tonight.

Women were incredibly easy for him to manipulate.

Annabelle laughed lightly as Wesker spun her around under the great crystal chandelier, and resettled in his embrace to be swept across more marble tiles. Mother would be so pleased, her plan was working perfectly. Annabelle glanced up at him to see his smile, and considered her next move. Should she smile shyly? Coyly?

She felt bold as they moved smoothly around the floor. She could almost feel like she was flying. Her mind felt like it was on an odd, almost disorienting high. Feeling her skin flush, she turned her attention back to her dance partner. What made this man tick, where was her advantage?

Power, that is what made this man tick. Power oozed out of him, and he obviously commanded it with his every gesture. So, power is what he would respond to. As she was spun out again, she again locked her eyes on his, and channeling her boldness she stepped further into his personal space than the dance allowed, her whole body brushing his. Her eyes roamed his face for a reaction as she smiled slyly. She had never smiled slyly to anyone other than her reflection, and felt a thrill move through her as she did now.

His eyebrows twitched together. Ah, so she had surprised him. Annabelle continued smiling as the last chords of the waltz faded. Nodding she thanked him for the dance, and promptly walked away to leave him alone on the floor. Nodding gracefully at those she passed, she stopped to wish her parents good night and began to ascend the staircase that led up to the family suites. There was approval on their faces. Clearly they had observed her movements in obeying their orders in trying to influence Albert Wesker.

Halfway up the staircase she paused and looked behind her, smiling when she saw him still standing where she left him, smirking up at her. Annabelle understood that smirk. He knew what she did, and he was amused. Annabelle looked down and bit her lip, turning away as her mother approached the tall man, and returned to her rooms. It appeared Wesker was not so easily enchanted.

The party was boring her anyway.


	3. Seige

_Author's Note: I do not own anything within the Resident Evil Universe, though I do own Hannah/Annabelle/Melody._

_I am new to the world of fanfiction, and this is my first story. It is the first installment of a quartet that I will write, but I really need the reviews and constructive feedback on fleshing out characters, emotions, and action. _

Chapter Three: Seige

Trying to write in her journal of the day, another requirement of ladyship in her mother's house, Annabelle found she could hardly keep the pen from shaking in her hands, marring her normally flowing script. Pursing her lips in frustration, she got up from her writing desk, and paced around her room. The air was too warm, her chairs were scratchy and uncomfortable on her back. She could not get comfortable sitting on her bed. She had changed into a simple white cotton dress in an attempt to get comfortable. Everything she had done to relax was for naught, for she could not relax. Something was setting her nerves abuzz, making her feel a little frenzied. Sighing, she walked out onto her balcony.

Here finally she had some peace. The summer breeze played with her hair as she leaned over the balcony's broad edge. Dimly, sounds of laughter or boisterous talking filtered up from the party a few floors below her. It was clear this party would last a while. She could just make out the piano being played, which meant her father had sat down to entertain guests.

She was restless, that frenzied feeling beginning to build again. She had no idea why, but she felt the need to roam and leave her room to wander the halls. Absolutely nothing in her room could entertain her, and the party had bored her hours ago. A feeling of deep boredom swept through her, like water on her frenzy. She needed to do something. Staring out blankly on her family's grounds, she decided to give into impulse, and left her room.

She felt better as she roamed. About to round a corner to the guest wing she heard Wesker's voice. Pressing her back against the wall, she barely breathed as she listened. A shaft of moonlight fell upon her, setting her dress aglow and lighting up her pale skin and hair. She felt like a ghost.

"Is everything prepared?" His voice was so cold, like a blade of ice passing through her ears into her mind, seeping slowly into her body. It was so different from the politely interested voice from before. It took her breath away. His cold voice was the perfect accoutrement to his sophistication. Annabelle wondered at herself and her thoughts of his voice, nearly laughing knowing she was half in love with his voice, though only his voice.

"Have you discovered a way into the lower levels?" Annabelle frowned slightly. Lower levels? Surely he was not referring to the private labs of her father lying below their estate? Annabelle quieted her mind and listened intently.

"Excellent!" Wesker exclaimed. Annabelle could clearly pick up on the pleasure in his voice, but there was something twisted about it. The hairs on her arms stood up as her breath came in shortly.

"Hm," Wesker murmured. "Be ready in a half hour. Be sure your men can keep Davenport distracted. I will not risk losing the sample and research due to an annoying interruption."

She was right, he was after her father's lab. He had men, and he was after her father's lab. Annabelle bit her lip, and felt a tingling sensation. It felt slightly good. Then she realized she was excited by this plan to destroy her father's life work.

Annabelle knew she should warn her father, she should be horrified. She should feel anything but this bubbling mania that threatened to burst forth in laughter. She smiled to herself, turning silently and walking quickly to her rooms.

Rushing through her doors she closed them behind her, breathing deeply. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes twinkling. So father would get his little labs raided by the very man he invited into his home, the very man he planned to be held under his perfect daughter's sway. Annabelle could not keep in her laughter, it rang from her to fill the room. It was too perfect, too right. Her father deserved to have his project crushed, one of many dreams he has been doggedly pursuing for years. It was a good five minutes before she could calm down enough to notice Jezebel standing by her armoire and holding a night gown.

"Oh! Jezebel!" Annabelle exclaimed. "It is glorious, absolutely glorious!" Annabelle jumped up and ran to the bemusedly smiling maid, grabbing her hands and dancing in circles with her around the room. Everything was bright and super clear, everything her senses were bringing in was super sharp. Annabelle laughed again, releasing the poor confused maid to twirl in circles onto her balcony. Her eyes tried to peer into the forests around her family's home to make out the mercenaries – for they can only be mercenaries – except she saw nothing. Well of course not. If she could see them, her father's guards would have been able to see them, and clearly the genius Albert Wesker would not let that possibly happen – before its time.

Time. Annabelle remembered Wesker's words, ignoring the questions of Jezebel who remained inside the room. He had said that in half an hour his men should be ready, and that they would attack the lower levels to retrieve samples. Which samples Annabelle could not be sure. Not that she cared. It was exhilarating enough just to hear Wesker plan.

She wanted to see it for herself. She wanted to help. Annabelle realized at that point there was another project of her father's, of both her parent's really, that she could crush.

Rushing back into her room Annabelle stood in front of her grandfather clock. It was midnight when she left her room initially. It would have taken ten minutes to walk to where Wesker stayed at the slow speed she went. So it was 12:10 am when she came upon Wesker. Studying the clock she saw it was 12:30 am.

Annabelle thought at lightning speeds. How could she help Wesker without her parents knowing – yet – and without knowing Wesker's exact plans? He was going to enter the labs. Which meant he planned to leave those labs as well. Annabelle knew what she would do.

The Davenport family carefully leaked different "clues," or allowed them to be found given enough work and computer hacking, about the blueprints of the estate, including the catacombs and labs underneath. There were traps though, set up for people stupid enough to think they could make it out alive. Some information was allowed to be found about the traps, but most of it was misinformation. And it was this misinformation that Wesker must have had in his possession.

There would be only one way out of the labs once her father was alerted to the break in. And her father _would_ be alerted. Which meant if Wesker was to succeed in his plan to steal whatever virus and research he was after, he would need the assistance of a member of the Davenport family who held the secrets. Annabelle would have to lead him through the catacombs.

It all came together in an eyeblink. She felt electrified. All the colors in the room were incredibly vibrant and clear to her eye, her skin throbbing with the heat in the room and from the blood passing through her veins, her ears and nose keyed up for the slightest stimulus. It was at this point that her mind registered Jezebel's voice.

"What?" Annabelle breathed, in a bit of a daze at what was about to unfold. She looked to her maid. The older woman stared at her with wide eyes. Stammering a couple times the woman repeated her questions.

"I had asked if you were alright, and I had asked what was glorious? I got nervous when you didn't answer."

Annabelle stared at her for a few second. "I'm fine," she replied, grinning widely. "And what is glorious? Why, tonight is." Annabelle walked forward and clasped the maid's hands, dropping the nightgown. She continued, her voice breathy. "But, I must order you to stay here, no matter what you hear, or what alarm goes off. Do not leave this room, Jezebel. Do not follow me. Do not alert anyone about me. Do not speak of this to anyone. I do not make it a habit to ask you of things that are so out of the norm, and I apologize for starting now, but I must insist. Do you promise?"

Annabelle could have left it as a command, but she wanted something more solid. Wide, dazed eyes filled with happiness as Jezebel slowly nodded, looking frightened. Annabelle glanced back at the clock. 12:35 am. She needed to get to the catacombs below if she were to be of any use. Releasing Jezebel, Annabelle quickly walked out.

Wesker coolly surveyed the forest outside his window as a fire crackled in the hearth behind him. He was dressed in combat gear, black pants and muscle shirt with black boots and gloves, gun holsters around his shoulders. He was confident in his plans. While his men were not able to scan the grounds as thoroughly as he would have liked, they were able to hack into one of Davenport's personal computers and discover the hidden details of the catacombs below the mansion. He smirked to himself. Davenport was a fool, thinking Albert Wesker would just come by for a visit and a party. He was here to gain the advantage.

He had The Agency's attention, that was for sure. What he did not have was The Agency's confidence. Wesker knew they did not tell him all of their projects. This infuriated Wesker. While Umbrella may have become a bane to his existence, at least he knew towards the end more of what was going on. He did not betray Umbrella to be held in the dark by some organization who felt they could demand Wesker's allegiance.

But, he had started developing his network of spies as he and The Agency agreed upon. Only he used those spies to service his own needs as well as The Agency's. And those spies bore more fruit than he had expected, fruit in the form of Davenport's research. Which is why he was here tonight.

He glanced at the digital watch on his wrist. 12:40 am. It was time. He sent a message over his phone to the leader of his mercenary team. Within moments, Wesker dashed down the stairs, his body a black blur unseen by the human eye, running past the party to the guard post his men were just about to run into.

Two guards sat at the digital display screen. Glancing at it Wesker could see his men moving across the lawn from the forest to the drop off zone by the mansion. The guards stood up, hands reaching for their guns as they turned around. Their hardened, business-like faces flickered when they saw the blond man standing there. They, of course, had not heard Wesker's approach. Quickly though they broad up their side arms and took aim at Wesker.

Wesker shook his head and grinned wickedly, eyes glinting red behind his glasses. "Is this how Davenport treats his guest?" he inquired, before rushing forward and slamming both his fists into their chest cavities. The guards stared up at him in surprise, throats gargling until their eyes turned glassy and unseeing.

Dropping them, Wesker moved briskly to the computer and deactivated the security cameras around the estate. Walking outside the guard post he saw his mercenaries approaching, lead by Jack Krauser.

"Krauser," Wesker greeted. "Report."

"The men are in position to move into the catacombs sir." He gestured to one of the men, a squirrely looking Latino. "This is Gorge. He has the coordinates and blueprints on his digital readout."

Gorge lifted his left wrist, drawing Wesker's attention to the device strapped there. Its green LED screen showed the white lines of the blueprint catacombs. He nodded at the man, then turned back to Krauser. "We need to get moving, before the gaurds get here."

The mercenary nodded and started hand gesturing orders before nodding to Gorge to take the lead. The little man led them around the back of the estate to the eastern garden, far away from the party that still carried on across a little lake. "There is an access point to the labs here sir," Gorge told Krauser as he led them to a small patio, his Argentinean accent thick. "It is activated by that statue," he gestured over to a marble statue of a naked woman surrounded by surf. Krauser walked over to it, touching it in various spots until he heard a quiet 'click.' The tiles below them moved aside to show a staircase.

Krauser signaled two men to move forward and investigate. Four men remained with him, Wesker, and Gorge. "Clear," the mercenaries below called.

"Finally," Wesker muttered, moving forward into the dark hole. He moved quickly, eager to get to the research and depart quietly. There was no use in a confrontation; it would only slow him down. They moved through various stone wings and corridors until Gorge stopped them and pointed to a locked metal door. Krauser signaled three men to accompany him, opening the door and opening fire on the few researchers working the night shift.

Annabelle waited for Wesker and his men to come her way. She stood in a large dome shaped room, water droplets echoing throughout the chamber. This was the center of the labyrinth, this is what Wesker had to pass through but about which he had misinformation. There were five doors. Four doors lead to tyrant mutations her father bought from Umbrella to prevent anyone stupid enough to come down here from getting away with the research. The fifth door was the key out. Their objective, when Wesker would reach this room, would be to continue through the labyrinth and come out the other side, alive. Only a Davenport knew how.

As Annabelle waited, a quiet voice sounded within her. It was the voice that always acquiesced to her parent's desires, who always obeyed without question. Annabelle hated that voice. It asked her why she was doing this. Why would she want to destroy her father's life work, demolish her mother's plans. For a moment Annabelle did not have an answer. Then memories flooded through her mind.

She saw herself this afternoon, slapped by her mother and strapped to the chair. She saw herself from two years ago, her father dragging her out of bed in the middle of the night to force her to run on a treadmill for two hours because he had finally found a moment to review her medical charts only to find she had gained five pounds. She was on a liquid diet for the next three weeks. She smelled the peroxide that accompanied every trip to the salon for ten years, she saw all the packaging of the hundreds of pairs of blue colored contacts. She saw her mother and father yelling at her demanding if she wanted to be some common cow because she mispronounced a word in their class.

She saw her mother tell her old friends that no, Annabelle could not play with them because she was too good for them now. That was when she was eight. She saw the constant etiquette lessons, the hours laboring over penmanship, the endless music lessons, the vocal coach, the beauticians, the seamstresses. She saw the removal of her old toys she had dearly loved because her parents said that is what common trash played with. Instead they gave her porcelain dolls she had to be extra careful with, no matter how many times she told her parents they gave her nightmares. That was when she was nine. She saw all the lessons in perfection, in making Annabelle something and someone she was never truly meant to be to be a tool in their constant scheming for power.

She saw her mother screaming at her to get out of the tree the first day they moved into the mansion, after they had their childless cousin killed to take the seat of power within the Davenport family. She had been having a blast, a welcome break from the weird uptight behavior from her mother for the past week or so. There was sap on her new white stockings and red velvet dress, along with twigs and leaves in her still brown hair, but her brown eyes were exuberant. The pretty lady Jezebel snapped a photo of her as she looked up from the sticky sap on her hands laughing. Then mother appeared and screamed for Annabelle to get out of the tree, that Annabelle would never climb trees again, that only common trash climbed trees, and that if Annabelle really wanted to climb trees that meant she wanted to be common trash and that she never loved her mother.

All of this rushed through Annabelle's mind. _Really?_ She asked the voice inside her, the voice whose protestations were rapidly fading into nothing. _Why should I not do this? _

With that, Annabelle looked serenely at the large stone door she herself had only just passed through, and continued to wait for Albert Wesker.

James Davenport laughed at a witty remark about worms and genetic diseases made by one of the scientists in the circle he was talking with. Suddenly he felt his phone vibrating in his pant pocket. Bemused, he nodded his apologies to his fellow conversationalists and walked away a few paces. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he activated its display.

James frowned deeply at what he saw, white fingers clutching the phone tightly:

_INTRUDER ALERT. EASTERN GARDEN ENTRANCE._

"What is it?" a voice asked sharply at his right. Looking up he saw Elena's eyes boring into his. Showing her the phone he replied, "We have a problem."

Elena scowled. "Who would…" she muttered, eyes scanning the crowd.

James grimaced. "Who else, my dear, but the great Albert Wesker. I should have known better."

Elena glanced at him and nodded. "We miscalculated. We had thought Annabelle was enough to keep him occupied. You know what we need to do."

James' lips tightened into a line. Pressing a few buttons on his phone he sealed off all exits to his labs. "The routes are secure," he reported to his wife, who nodded. "There is only one place Wesker can go."

Elena smiled. "The labyrinth," she purred. A dreamy look came across her face. As quickly as it came it vanished. "We should still secure Project A."

James nodded in accordance, and summoned Edgars. He ordered the British man to have all his guests leave within the hour. Edgars nodded and summoned the waiting staff under his command.

Elena downed her wine, walking with James to the sitting room. Pulling a book, a bookcase on the opposite wall opened to reveal an elevator to the lower levels. The two walked to the elevator, and pressed the call button for level B2.


	4. Labyrinth

_Author's Note: I do not own anything within the Resident Evil Universe, though I do own Hannah/Annabelle/Melody._

_I am new to the world of fanfiction, and this is my first story. It is the first installment of a quartet that I will write, but I really need the reviews and constructive feedback on fleshing out characters, emotions, and action. _

Chapter Four: Labyrinth

Wesker's gloved fingers flew over the keyboard, opening files to be downloaded to the USB drive he brought. A couple mercenaries watched the two doors, expecting guards to close in any moment. Satisfied all the relevant files were downloaded and ready for view later, he retrieved his portable drive and secured it on a necklace around his neck. Krauser signaled his men to gather around the blond tyrant when a sudden sound like a large metal door locking into place made the walls tremble.

Wesker frowned in fury. "How did we not see this coming?" he demanded, turning to Krauser, who turned to Gorge, who turned to his digital readout device, or DRD. Gorge shrugged and was about to speak when Wesker's hand flew out to crush his trachea. The mercenaries held stock still while Wesker, sneering, picked Gorge up by the throat and slammed him into a wall. Gorge hit the wall with the gristly sound of bone and tendons breaking, blood smearing the wall as he slid down, pooling around his dead body.

"You," Wesker pointed to a random mercenary. The mercenary jumped and stood at attention. Wesker rolled his eyes, hidden by glasses. "Pick up that DRD, and find us a route out of here."

The mercenary scrambled to do what the tyrant ordered before he got killed in another rage. Wesker turned away to survey the room for a route out. The one thing he could not abide was incompetence. Those who were judged to be so were quickly eradicated.

Wesker's eyes went to the door on the opposite side of the room. Striding purposefully towards it he asked where it led.

"Sir, that leads to another research lab, no exits discernable…wait," the mercenary replied. He had stepped to the door next to Wesker. "Sir, the blueprints are changing, and new tunnels are being added."

Wesker frowned. He did not appreciate surprises. "What do you mean?" Krauser stepped behind his man to read the DRD.

"Exactly that sir," Krauser reported. "These blueprints are being amended. The DRD constantly scans the area around it sir, and updates immediately. I surmise there is a metal nearby that was hiding this part of the schematic sir."

Wesker nodded. "Very well. Fan out, and let's see where this path leads. Can you find a path all the way out?"

The mercenary shook his head. "There is interference sir. This can only read about five hundred feet in any direction."

Wesker snarled but nodded the men forward, senses poised for input. The mercenary led them through another research room to a well concealed door that was flush with the wall. Opening it, a couple mercenaries when ahead and deemed it clear to continue.

In the distance, Annabelle could hear voices. She smiled, thinking it was about time. She was starting to get cold. Hearing the voices approaching, that tingling excitement was starting to fill her veins again. Then she could hear them outside the door. She wondered how they were going to get into the center of the labyrinth. That door had a specific way of opening it.

Then she heard that cold as ice voice speak, angry. "Fool! Get out of my way."

After a moment the stone door exploded in a shower of dust and chunks of rock. Wesker stood in the doorway, striding through as if he owned the place only to pull up short when he saw Annabelle there in her white dress. Annabelle saw that smirk, and suddenly wanted to wipe it off his face. She did not feel like being smirked at.

"Hello, Mr. Wesker," she greeted calmly, as if they had met in public somewhere.

"Ms. Davenport," he greeted in return, nodding his head in gallant mockery, still smirking. Behind him his men raised their machine guns at her, her torso and head covered into laser dots that quivered a bit.

Annabelle coolly gazed at those aiming guns at her, but chose to ignore them in favor of the blond man before her. It was slightly humorous to note that while his black clothes were covered in ash, his blond hair was still perfectly in place. "The guns are a bit rude, Mr. Wesker. I am unarmed, and hardly a threat."

Wesker smiled sourly at that. "It is odd to find you gracing this room with your presence, Ms. Davenport. Why are you here?" He could not help but indulge his curiosity. Annabelle noted that.

"Frankly, Mr. Wesker, you are in bind here," she continued to smile, enjoying this back and forth. "You now stand in the labyrinth, the collection of corridors in the catacombs meant to trap those who dare to intrude in our space with ill will." She stepped forward, and noted the mercenaries get even more tense, if it were possible. "A Davenport built these traps, Mr. Wesker. Only a Davenport may navigate them successfully."

Wesker raised an eyebrow sardonically. "What makes you think I need a little girl to handle traps? I barely even need mercenaries."

Annabelle stiffened, while Wesker's eyes flashed in cold humor. "Because, Mr. Wesker," she answered primly. "Everything you know about these catacombs are wrong, products of information intentionally leaked out or put somewhere it could be found."

Another blond man to Wesker's right laughed. Annabelle narrowed her eyes on him. She may have dealt with her parents cold tyranny for a decade, but she would not sit here and be laughed at. "Little girl, we have means that show us in the moment the layout of his place." He lifted his gun, "So there is no real use for you, is there?"

Annabelle looked at his finger slowly squeeze around the trigger as she asked, "A Digital Readout Device?"

The blond mercenary's eyebrows twitched together and glanced at Wesker, who studied her with a calculated look on his face. "It wont work," she told Wesker. "We have technology that feeds false blueprints to a DRD, leading those who think they are headed to safety right into the hands of a T-Virus mutant. Sometimes multiple mutants."

Wesker's face did not give his emotion away, but Annabelle surmised from his extremely still form that she had managed to surprise him deeply. Annabelle smiled right into Wesker's eyes.

"I don't believe you!" said the mercenary that Annabelle could see had the device. She looked at him sidelong. "Sir, she could be tricking us into thinking she would be leading us out, only to lead us to a tyrant."

"Agreed," said the blond mercenary.

Annabelle could not help it – she sneered. She had never sneered before, and noted the sensation away for later, but sneer she did. "Oh really? And why, pray tell, would I risk my bodily safety to appear to you only to lead you to a place I could very well be killed also?" Annabelle's tone made her low opinion of his intelligence quite plain. She looked back at Wesker. "I came to help you, but the more time we spend talking this over, the more likely my father will come here en force, or order the release of all T-Virus mutants into this room."

Wesker raised his eyebrow at the young woman. He had not given her nearly the amount of credit which was her due. She was obviously highly intelligent, and quick witted. Affecting a bored tone he responded to her. "You pose a very interesting question, Ms. Davenport, but I have one for you in return." He smiled coldly. "Why should I believe their daughter would willingly come to me and help bring down her family? You do not appear to be a sociopath."

Annabelle felt a fire in her veins as she whispered, "I hate them."

Her whisper lingered in the air, a cold draft suddenly flowing through the room. Wesker continued to gaze at the pale girl in white. Then the silence was shattered by the mercenary with the map.

"That is bullshit," he sneered dismissively. He strode over to a door on his left. "Sir, my DRD says this is the way out, about four hundred feet to the surface, close to the initial entry point." Confidently, before anyone had time to react, the man shot the keypad for the code, opening the door.

"No!" Annabelle cried as Krauser started forward. Wesker turned slowly to gaze at the open door. Clicking was heard within, and Wesker's gaze turned to disgust at the mercenary who opened the door.

"Idiot," Wesker told the mercenary slowly. Suddenly a long whip of a tongue grabbed the bold mercenary around the neck, and a Licker leapt out of the darkness to feed on the rapidly suffocating mercenary. Two more Lickers came into the chamber.

Annabelle held stock still as the mercenaries opened fire, gazing in wonder as Wesker calmly brought out an aimed a pearl-handled gun at one of the Lickers leaping towards him. With a shot like a deafening roar, the Licker was propelled backwards to the wall, bubbling into nothingness. The mercenaries disposed of the other two Lickers efficiently.

Silence hung in the air. Annabelle's mouth was slightly parted, breathing in as she stared at the mangled corpse of the mercenary. His DRD was crushed and useless. Wesker noted her apparent rapture with what had just occurred, and filed that away for consideration later.

"Well, Ms. Davenport." Annabelle turned those blue eyes slowly back to the blond man now approaching her slowly. "It appears we have no choice but to follow you."

After a moment Annabelle smiled.

James was moving through his security camera feeds, looking for Wesker's location while Elena prepared the sample. His phone vibrated again, its LED screen reading:

_LABYRINTH TRAP ONE ACTIVATED_.

"Found you," he whispered in his whiney voice, flipping rapidly through is his security feed channels until he found the dome chamber. The scene wasn't precisely what he expected. "Elena," he called.

His wife came towards him, carrying a syringe. She too looked at the security feed, a look of shock and fear crossing her face before it was replaced by a smile slowly forming on her lips. "Good girl, Annabelle. Very good girl."

James looked at her in confusion. He had expected her to be furious.

Elena saw him looking at her and said, "She will lead them right to us. To this. Everything is just…moving ahead of schedule."

She held up the syringe. It held an emerald green liquid. She and James looked at it reverently as she placed it down on the table, turning to kiss her husband.

Annabelle turned her back to Wesker and walked confidently to the door that lead to freedom. Inputting the code on the keypad next to the door, she waited as the door slowly opened. Snarls suddenly filled the air, and a Great Dane appeared at the entrance. Its face ripped in two, large jagged teeth dripping with saliva as red eyes zeroed in on Annabelle. Wesker and his men raised their guns, the mercenaries crying out at the betrayal.

Annabelle though stood calmly as the Great Dane jumped at her. A couple of the mercenaries shot at it, only to find that bullets did not affect the dog. Then, the dog passed through her! It settled on all fours and turned to face her again, snarling. Out of the corner of her eye Wesker lowered his gun, though his mercenaries still had theirs half raised.

The image of the dog flickered, and faded. Annabelle looked at Wesker. "A holographic projection, Mr. Wesker, meant to alarm the intruder into wasting ammunition, and thus be unprepared for the next chamber."

Annabelle smiled and walked into the dark hallway. The smell of hard water filled her nose, water droplets sounding impossibly loud. She was on a high again, the whole world looked super sharp. Her bare feet made no noise, unlike the combat boots of those following her. After twenty minutes of walking, they came to another door.

She leveled her clear blue eyes at them, eyes that shined with excitement. "Stay back," she warned, and gave the code to the key pad next to the door.

The door opened into a dark graveyard inside a chamber, lit with walkway lights dispersed randomly. Moans of the undead filled the air as zombies shuffled around. This was no illusion. The smell of rotting flesh filled everyone's nose, giving Annabelle the urge to throw up. She steeled her shoulders though and took the rifle that was strapped to the wall next to her. It was at that moment the zombies noticed her. Annabelle was terrified of the slow approaching zombies as she took aim at the rope that held a wide granite block high above the center of the graveyard, where a corresponding hole was in the ground. Focusing though, she quickly scoped into her target and let fire.

The block of granite plummeted into the hole in the ground. A loud _clunk_ was heard, and slabs of red meat were sliding up from the ground. The smell of meat closer than the people drew the zombies, who fell on their feast with fervor.

"Hurry," Annabelle said as she ran forward. "We don't have much time." Right when they were three quarters of the way through the graveyard, a group of zombies had finished their meal, and focused on the people in their midst. They moved forward, less sluggishly than before to close ranks on the group.

Annabelle and the mercenaries sprinted forward to the other door. Rapidly, her face calm as her body trembled, Annabelle inputted code. The door quickly opened, Annabelle and the others rushing into the hallway just as the zombies were upon them. Annabelle turned to another keypad, ignoring the screams of two mercenaries who were not quick enough as she even more rapidly punched the code to close the door.

The door closed just as the other zombies were about to rush into the hallway. Gasping, Annabelle leaned against the cold stone walls, feeling her heart pounding. So rarely did she ever hear her heart pounding. She closed her eyes and relished the feeling of blood pumping through her ears creating a loud drumming noise. Opening her eyes she said to nobody in particular, "I hate that trap."

The blond mercenary glared at her in suspicion, raising Annabelle's eyebrows. She figured he would be more grateful for the help. It appeared she was wrong. "How do you know how to shoot a rifle?"

Annabelle's lips came together in a firm line. She was quickly getting tired of this man. "We hunt in our forests," she snapped. "Mother wanted me instructed in all activities of the gentry, and once allowed me to learn and shoot a bird off a branch." Annabelle did not mention that had been when she was thirteen, and that when she shot the release for the slabs of meat she had prayed her one day of shooting would help her after all. She just did not want to leave it to Wesker's men – the opportunity was too tempting.

Wesker stared at her. "It appears I underestimated you, Ms. Davenport."

Annabelle walked over to him, noting the remaining two mercenaries and the other blond whose hands tightened on their weapons. She ignored them. Wesker simply watched her approach, emotionless.

"What did you take?" she asked baldly.

"The research your father has been conducting on a serum to enhance the mental abilities in a subject," Wesker calmly replied. He had no secrets. If the girl did prove to be a threat, he would simply kill her. There was no way she could stop him. Her next words surprised him, yet again.

"That is all? Just research?" Annabelle looked at him incredulously. She let out an air of laughter as Wesker frowned. "Let me guess – your little DRD, and your tidbits of information did not tell you about level B2?"

Wesker scowled. "Krauser!" he said sharply, moving around Annabelle to stand in front of the blond mercenary. "Give me a good reason not to kill you. This girl has been more helpful in affecting my plans than you have!"

The man Krauser glared at Annabelle, who suddenly wanted to laugh at the whole situation. She supposed she was getting a little cracked to want to laugh at a moment like this, but she did not care. She in fact relished in feeling a little cracked. It was as if a whole world full of freedom stretched before her as Wesker laid into his mercenary.

Wesker turned away from his failed mercenary to see the mirth on Annabelle's face, as well as the slight dissociation in her eyes. He suddenly wondered at her mental state, but brushed it aside in light of her revelation. "Level B2?"

Annabelle nodded, a dark eagerness shining in her eyes. Once again, she was given an opportunity to destroy her parents. All those years of torture came back to her in a rush and she wanted nothing more than to get revenge through this demon before her.

"That research you were tracking and wanted to develop your own serum out of?" Annabelle began. She did not know how she knew of his plan, only that it was the most logical thing to do. He did not seem the type to be someone's puppet to order where they may. So this must be a personal project. She ignored the glowering look that was slowly building on his face as he realized she knew more than was comfortable for him to leave behind alive. It looked like he had to kill her after all.

Annabelle continued, oblivious to all the murderous plans going through Wesker's mind. "It is no longer in the research stage. Father created it."

One corner of Wesker's mouth lifted in a chilling smile. "Where?"

Annabelle returned a cold smile of her own, and walked down the hallway.

James turned the digital display off and turned to Elena, who was alive with excitement. "They're on their way."

"This could not have gone any better," breathed Elena. She faced the door and waited.


	5. Past the Research Stage

_Author's Note: I do not own anything within the Resident Evil Universe, though I do own Hannah/Annabelle/Melody._

_I am new to the world of fanfiction, and this is my first story. It is the first installment of a quartet that I will write, but I really need the reviews and constructive feedback on fleshing out characters, emotions, and action. _

Chapter Five: Past the Research Stage

"This is it," Annabelle reported, stopping in front of yet another metal door. Her nerves hummed, her heart races, her muscles tingled. She could not believe this moment was happening. It all felt so surreal as Wesker nodded to Krauser to open the door.

The world danced in front of her as she saw her parents over Wesker's broad shoulder. Only something was wrong. Her parents did not look shocked or alarmed. They were…_smiling_. A bubble popped somewhere in her chest, and she felt her elation dissipate as a coldness that had nothing to do with Wesker's voice entered her.

"Good evening, Dr. Wesker," Elena greeted, a look of smug superiority on her face. "We've been expecting you."

Wesker did not stay silent for long. "Oh really?"

"Quite so, Dr., yes. We trusted our young Annabelle to lead you right to us."

Everyone turned to Annabelle. She felt disgusting, she felt bile reaching up the back of her throat. She could feel her horror at her parents tugging at her face. They…planned this? How? How could they know what she would do?

Woodenly she walked into the overly warm room, carefully moving past Wesker, staring at her parents as if they had grown two heads. They may as well have. They were monsters. They took everything from her for the past ten years, and now they took her victory away from her as well. Rage bubbled up within her, threatening to consume her in its maw.

"Yes," James began, moving toward Wesker with confidence. "You see, Dr. Wesker, we have planned this for a long time." He smiled into Wesker's still face. Even through her rage, Annabelle wondered at the stupidity of her father to come within arm's reach of a man clearly about to kill in rage. Perhaps James had picked up on it because he moved next to stand next to Annabelle, stroking her hair.

Annabelle's skin crawled. So this was the plan the whole time. But it still did not explain how it would happen. Annabelle was morbidly curious to know how her parents planned to use her to gain control over Wesker. It was so ludicrous. All of it. Here were her parents, slinking around rattling off their plan as if it were the most obvious thing ever, there were the mercenaries staring with their mouths literally open, there was Wesker who she could see was trying hard not to kill the two people telling this ridiculous plan. And here she herself was, not quite feeling anything. In fact it was almost as if she were staring down at all of this from the ceiling.

James kept talking. "We have been molding young Annabelle here from the very start to be that which will bring you under our power. With a tyrant such as you under our control, well, we would rule to world, wouldn't we darling?" he crooned to Elena, who bit her lip in return.

"Perhaps, Dr. Wesker, you are wondering how it is possible that a young woman could bring you to such a state?" Elena asked. She smiled sickeningly and answered her own question. "Well, we engineered her just for you. Thousands of dollars and hours have been poured into the creation of…Annabelle." Elena walked over to her daughter, and stroked her arm lovingly. "You must admit Dr. Wesker, you are impressed with her. The perfect lady, everything you could need. And it is through her, that we would influence you."

Wesker stared at them, then burst into laughter. "You are fools. You really think you could gain me as some puppet?"

James continued where his wife left off, ignoring Annabelle. "Not in any conventional way, no," he acquiesced.

Sharp stinging pain lanced through Annabelle's neck, pulling her down from her ceiling perch and grounding her in the situation. She cried out in pain as her hand went to her neck. Looking at her mother, Annabelle could see a deranged triumph in her eyes. That is when her mind exploded.

Annabelle tried to suck in breath, but could not breathe. For a few seconds, as she fell to the floor, she could see the entire world focus on her. Then her eyes went dark, her heart stopped, and her mind shut down.

Annabelle Davenport died.

Wesker could hardly believe the circus show that was being performed for him. The Davenports were spinning some inane story about how he was to be their tool to take over the world, and that their daughter would bring him under their sway. They were idiots to assume they could ever have such a hold over him, but looking in their eyes he could see they were insane enough to believe it. Either way, as he listened to them spin their tale, he came to the decision that he would enjoy killing them. He doubted the Davenport girl would mind. She probably would help hide the bodies.

It was at that moment that Wesker noticed the syringe in Elena's hand. It carried a liquid he had never seen before, but his instincts told him that was the serum he sought. Suddenly though, it was plunged into Annabelle's neck.

Wesker watched as the girl fell to the floor and died. He sneered, not surprised a serum made by a pair of insane researchers would cause death. What he focused on though was the loss at an opportunity. Even if that serum had caused death, it was a step closer to finding the real serum. Rage filled his mind as he saw that opportunity wasted. He raised his fist, ready to strike the now afraid James Davenport when a moan sounded from the floor.

Everyone turned to stare, though his mercenaries kept their wits about them and leveled their weapons in case there was a mutation. Wesker readied himself for whatever rose from that floor, ready to kill the entire Davenport family if necessary.


	6. Dying Was Easier

_Author's Note: I do not own anything within the Resident Evil Universe, though I do own Hannah/Annabelle/Melody._

_I am new to the world of fanfiction, and this is my first story. It is the first installment of a quartet that I will write, but I really need the reviews and constructive feedback on fleshing out characters, emotions, and action. _

Chapter Six: Dying Was Easier

Annabelle tried to breathe, but it hurt like fire in her lungs. She moaned as her mind recalled what had just happened. It was hard to work out what happened when. She saw her favorite tree when she was a child, saw her father take measurements of every part of her body, saw her mother staring at her in triumph, felt the pain of a needle, felt the anger of her victory taken away.

Something was bothering her eyes, making them water. Touching her face, she gingerly ran her fingers over her eyes. Oh yeah, the contacts. She popped them off her eyes and rolled onto her side. Slowly getting on her hands and knees, she reached up to the desk edge she remembered being above her. Her mind was starting to solidify events, the linear quality making more sense.

All her nerves were alive, some screaming, some feeling fuzzy, as she pulled herself upright. Dying was easier than coming back to life. Looking up she saw the mercenaries, and the business end of their guns. Then, she saw Wesker, who was focused completely on her. Then she saw her parents.

They stared at her in wonder and amazement. Not towards their who just revived from death, Annabelle knew that. They were proud of themselves.

Annabelle continued to stare at them, waiting for a feeling that was buzzing at the edge of her mind to become clearer and stronger. Slowly it built: rage. She thought she was in a rage before, but it was nothing compared to this. This was pure and destructive, and it was exhilarating. Annabelle straightened up fully, staring, not knowing her face was contorting.

Slowly the looks on her parent's faces faded from pride to fear. Annabelle looked again at Wesker, thinking that she wanted nothing more than to rip her parents apart and not caring if they saw. Wesker brows came together sharply in surprise, and Annabelle suddenly felt a strong feeling of agreement. Wesker and Annabelle stared at each other for a moment before Wesker's arm snapped out, his fist slamming into James' face. Annabelle did not even bother to feel surprised at the sudden motion that was little more than a blur. At that moment Annabelle lunged at her mother, face feral as her fingers curled, clawlike.

James swooned to a nearby table, moaning as he clutched his face, blood falling in a trail on the ground. Elena screamed when she saw her daughter move at her, and raced out of a side door. Annabelle started chasing after her until she saw the door slam shut. She started shaking in her rage. It was mindless, taking over her body. The world seemed to thunder in her ears, a pounding almost too terrible to stand. It was too much for her to hold.

A scream ripped through her body, tearing her throat as she slammed her fists on the table. The pressure that had been building within the rage suddenly bloomed out of her. She had this feeling of first contracting tightly, then expanding like an explosion in her mind. Then, to her utter shock, she saw the glass in the room shattering outward towards the walls, furniture crashing into the walls, while the mercenaries, Wesker, and her father all slammed into the wall. Her body was the central point from which everything flew away.

She understood. That was what her mother injected her with. The serum to enhance mental abilities, it was flowing through her veins. Her focus turned away from the outside world as she fell within herself. She already felt different, more open to the world. She did not quite feel her body as a shell. She understood her parent's plans as well, as clearly as if she heard their thoughts while they thought of them. She was to telepathically influence Wesker, to make him do what they want so they can rule the world.

Annabelle started laughing, and could not stop. _That is what this was about?_ Her parents were morons. They gave her immense power because they knew it would take immense power to make Albert Wesker do what they wanted, but they never stopped to consider that Annabelle was an individual, not just a tool at their disposal. They never stopped to question who Annabelle would use that power on. How like her parents to not see that.

Well, she would make sure they saw that, before they died.

She heard someone stirring in the wreckage of the lab against the wall opposite her. Glass twinkled at it fell to the floor. Breathing heavily, she watched as Albert Wesker alone stood up. He was covered in cuts and gashes.

She waited for Wesker's reaction. She sincerely doubted he was the type to take being slammed into a wall well. "Sorry," she told him.

Wesker raised an eyebrow. "For what?" Before her eyes she saw his cuts and gashes heal. He moved over to the body of her father. "Dead, like the mercenary." He turned back to Annabelle. She could see Krauser getting up sluggishly from the wreckage. _So they're the same, or at least similar_.

She did not know if it were because she was psychotic, cut off from her emotions, or simply uncaring, but Annabelle felt nothing for murdering her father. Instead, Annabelle turned back to the door her mother escaped through. It looked like crumpled paper, the force of her psychic shockwave punching it in. It seemed weak enough to maneuver. Moving to the door she told Wesker, "Take what you want. I don't care. I am going to go kill mother."

She tried pushing the door off its hinges, but the metal was still too strong for her. Concentrating, Annabelle tried to psychically move the door, only she had no idea how to. Of course it did not so much as budge. After ten minutes of trying and working up a sweat she stepped back and growled in frustration.

"Allow me." Wesker's cool, cultured voice sounded behind her before he stepped into her vision and kicked the door. Annabelle watched the door fly off its hinges, raising her eyebrow in appreciation of Wesker. Thanking him she left him and Krauser behind to do whatever they wished.

Annabelle followed the mental trail her mother left. It was surprisingly not difficult, but it made her wonder why she could not move the door. It was clear she had telekinetic powers, and it seemed she had some sort of odd empathy that allowed her now to chase after her insane mother. She shook her head, deciding to ponder that later. Instead, she doggedly followed the trail to the mansion's rooftop.

Elena was there, sifting through a metal attaché case. Annabelle had no idea when Elena was able to grab it, but it did not matter. Looking at her mother, Annabelle began to feel some of that rage build up again. "Hello, Mother," she greeted lightly.

Elena whipped around, eyes narrowed. "You are not my daughter," she whispered, venom dripping from every word. "My daughter is a lady. You are nothing but common trash."

Annabelle blinked, and blinked again. Elena spat at her and turned back to her case, picking up various syringes and muttering to herself. "Look at me," Annabelle whispered. Elena did not react.

"Look at me," Annabelle repeated this time, louder so the rustling wind could not carry her words away from her mother's ear. Elena continued to ignore her, her mutterings becoming faster and more frantic. "Look at me!" Annabelle screamed.

A force of psychic energy blasted at her mother, buffeting her. Elena turned around in fear, fear that was quickly replaced with anger when she saw Annabelle.

Annabelle refused to be ignored this last time by her mother. "I am your daughter! Not some pretty picture in a magazine, not some…some graceful fictional lady in a story about castles and knights in shining armor. Me! Me, mother. You gave birth to _me_," Annabelle's voice cracked, but she refused to cry. Now was a hell of a time to lose control. "I am your daughter, not any of those symbols or books or good behaviors. Remember? Hannah?"

Elena's eyes were a dark blue in their insanity. They blinked rapidly. "Hannah?" she whispered. Annabelle nodded. Elena swayed where she sat, her mouth working silently. Then her face hardened into a stone mask. "Hannah died. I have a new daughter now, a proper lady for a proper society where a proper mother can be properly proud."

_I have insanity in my family_. Annabelle got angry. "I never died as a child, though you did your best to kill who I was. And I suppose you succeeded, because I am not Hannah anymore. Nor am I Annabelle, that is for damn sure." It was the first time she swore. She cherished it briefly. "You cannot fabricate a daughter when a real one lives. But, you did."

Annabelle slowly approached Elena, kneeling in front of her. Elena leaned back from her, growling. Annabelle shook her head at her truly insane mother. "A life for a life, Mother. You took mine, so I am taking yours. I am sure a part of you in there is begging for death as an alternative to existence as a crazy woman." Annabelle shrugged. "Who knows, you may even see Father again." Annabelle smiled into her mother's face.

Elena leapt suddenly at Annabelle, wailing, whites showing around irises. Annabelle did not expect it and fell backwards under the older woman's weight. Elena wrapped her hands around Annabelle's neck and squeezed with all her might. Annabelle couldn't even gargle.

That rage was coming back rapidly. Why did her mother keep killing her? Annabelle reached up and boxed her mother's ears, praying the move she had never done before in her life would work.

It did. Elena crawled off her, crying out in pain. Quickly Annabelle stood up and backed away from the insane, murderous woman. Checking behind her to make sure she wasn't about to fall over the iron railing of the rooftop, Annabelle heard a hateful scream erupt.

Spinning her head around, Annabelle saw her mother once again race towards her, hate in her eyes. Annabelle did not even think, she just felt that same contracting and expanding feeling in her mind. Suddenly, Elena was flying in the air and over the railing, disappearing.

For a moment Annabelle could not breathe. Then, she raced over to the railing her mother flew over. Down below she saw her mother's broken body. Annabelle let out a shuddering breath, and felt free.

After a few moments, she turned back to the attaché case her mother was fiddling with before she died. There were syringes with strange colored liquid around it. Carefully she packed the syringes away and locked the case, carrying it downstairs with her.


	7. The Morning After

_Author's Note: I do not own anything within the Resident Evil Universe, though I do own Hannah/Annabelle/Melody._

_I am new to the world of fanfiction, and this is my first story. It is the first installment of a quartet that I will write, but I really need the reviews and constructive feedback on fleshing out characters, emotions, and action. _

Chapter Seven: The Morning After

She woke up to birds singing and Jezebel screaming. Then she remembered her mother's body outside, and the bruises around her neck. Getting up, she walked over the Jezebel who was clasping Edgars and yelling in Spanish. She needed to calm the woman down enough to not call the cops. Once Jezebel had stopped screaming, Annabelle told her and Edgars everything that had conspired in the past twenty four hours.

Jezebel sat in shock, Edgars conveyed no emotion. Annabelle knew what he felt though. Fear. Of her. Annabelle accepted that and turned back to Jezebel.

"I need to know what to do about the bodies," she said to the older woman.

Jezebel looked at her like she was crazy. "What? It's obvious – call the cops, or we will get in trouble."

Firmly Annabelle shook her head. "What would I tell them? Hm?" When Jezebel fell silent Annabelle turned to Edgars.

He did not need to be asked. "Call the mortician. Tell them a terrible accident has occurred. Call The Agency, tell them of the deaths. Say a lab accident killed Master Davenport, and that Mistress Davenport was driven mad with grief over it and killed herself."

Annabelle nodded her thanks, and went to make the appropriate phone calls. She set the funeral for the next day, her parents to be entombed in the mausoleum next to each other as was befitting their imagined rank.

It was hard to act like she was in grief, but for the next twenty four hours she put on the best acting she had ever done even with all the years living under her mother's thumb. Finally the funeral and wake were over. Lawyers were dealt with quickly. She was rich and the only living relative. Lawyers lived for cases like hers, and made sure the estate was tied to her name exclusively, as was the money in her parents ridiculously padded accounts. Within forty-eight hours, it was all settled. Annabelle Davenport was sole mistress of the Davenport estate.

She dismissed Jezebel and Edgars from their positions with enough money to live on for the rest of their lives and enough left over for heirs. There was no need for their presence where she was going.

Annabelle walked into her suite, and packed a few items. The attaché case. The two pairs of jeans Jezebel had sneaked her (she was wearing one pair already), and the few party-ish tops, also courtesy of Jezebel. The woman really had done all she could to give Annabelle as normal an upbringing as possible. Too bad it just did not quite work out. Jezebel was the closest thing to a mother Annabelle ever got. Annabelle did not pack any skirts or dresses. She was done with skirts and dresses.

Her iPod also when into the bag. It was an older one, but it held all the contraband music Jezebel could sneak her. Annabelle hesitated, but decided to pack her journal. Her mother had effectively erased who she was previous to Annabelle. Did she really want to erase Annabelle in favor of whoever she was now?

Grabbing her bag and leaving her room, she went to the photo room. There was only one photo she wanted: the picture of little Hannah playing in the tree. Annabelle smiled and packed that away in her bag. Her wallet and cellular telephone followed the picture into the bag. She put her jacket on, and with a glance at the overcast weather, she grabbed her silver handled umbrella.

Annabelle then walked outside to the taxi cab waiting for her. Making sure she locked the mansion behind her, she slid into the car. She ordered it to go to the closest salon, she did not care which one. Rain droplets hit the window as Annabelle stared outside, watching the world fly by. Soon they were at a little hole in the wall salon that served the small town by her estate. Asking the cabbie to wait for her, and promising a hundred dollar tip, she walked inside.

There were no other customers, so Annabelle was promptly seated in front of a mirror, and a tired looking pale woman asked what she would like for her hair. Annabelle stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were different. They were a lighter brown then what she had when she was little, somewhere between light brown and amber. Exotic, but not impossible. She turned her attention back to the hair stylist.

"Strip it," she said simply. "Blonde is not quite my color." Annabelle pulled the picture of her eight year old self from her bag. "I want this hair again."

The woman scrutinized the old photo, but finally smiling, handing the picture back to Annabelle. For the next hour or so, Annabelle's hair was treated for what she hoped would be the last time. The stylist even matched her eyebrows. When she was done, Annabelle stared at herself in the mirror.

She looked…sultry, exotic, new. As a blonde she looked like a youthful girl, but as a brunette she looked older, more like a woman. The stylist was nodding. "Yes, brunette is much more your color."

Annabelle smiled and handed her five hundred dollars, quietly getting up and leaving the salon.


	8. Melody

_Author's Note: I do not own anything within the Resident Evil Universe, though I do own Hannah/Annabelle/Melody._

_I am new to the world of fanfiction, and this is my first story. It is the first installment of a quartet that I will write, but I really need the reviews and constructive feedback on fleshing out characters, emotions, and action. _

Chapter Eight: Melody

Next she ordered the cabbie to a Walgreens, where she bought and applied black eyeliner. After that was a trip to a bar. Any bar. At this point, Annabelle paid the man. She doubted she would need his driving services anymore. Wandering into the bar, she saw there were a karaoke stage, and a mini-restaurant. Sighing, she was glad she did not have to lie about her age. Walking over to the restaurant part of the bar, she ordered a burger and sat back to enjoy the music.

They reminded Annabelle of her singing lessons. They were the only part of learning to be a lady that Annabelle truly enjoyed. She "practiced" whenever she could, loving the feel of song moving through her body and coming from her. That was years ago though. Her mother had gotten tired of her daughter's obsession with singing, and said only commoners wanted to be singers. Annabelle missed singing. She felt for awhile it was the only thing that made her feel happiness.

There was nothing to stop her here. Sure, it had been years since she sung, and she did not know the lyrics, but there was a computer that spelled lyrics out. A familiar tingling excitement flowed through her limbs, giving her toes that pins and needles feeling. Biting her lip, she strolled over to the bartender, asking him to hold her bag.

That tingling excitement grew as she ascended the steps of the stage and blinked at the bright lights blaring down on her. She smiled hesitantly at the crowd, and found that unlike all those scientists at her parents party, she actually cared what these people thought, she wanted to put on a show they would enjoy. The idea made that excited tingling stronger and that decided her. Whatever kept that tingling going.

She turned her infected eyes to the computer screen and grinned widely at the appropriateness of the song that was flashing there: _Leanne Rimes' Destructive_.

Closing her eyes, she stopped thinking and instead just poured all she was into the song. It was her song after all, every word a perfect representation of her feelings over the past few days.

Her hips wanted to sway to the music, so she let them. Her fingers wanted to grab her hair, so she let them. Her eyes wanted to scorch the crowd, so she let them. There was no one to dictate her behavior but her.

It was such a rush, she felt high as she finished, grinning broadly at the applause around her when she stepped off the stage. The words were still powerfully running through her mind, the melody still humming in her bones. Swaying to the bartender she got her bag back.

"Someone came in for you," he informed her. Annabelle raised her eyebrows in surprise. No one in this town knew her.

"Do you know who?" The bartender shook his head.

"He insisted you knew his name already. Anyway, he came in, told me to let you know, and walked out. He didn't want to mess up your amazing singing I bet." The bartender grinned widely as he subtly looked her over, from her tight black shirt to her tight blue jeans and black boots. Annabelle felt his arousal in the air around him, and smiled crookedly to him. She always wanted to smile crookedly at someone, and now she had a chance – another little rush went through her.

Annabelle smiled and thanked him, pulling on her black coat and opening her umbrella before she stepped outside and saw there was indeed someone waiting for her.

Albert Wesker leaned against a black 2003 Nissan 35OZ. He again wore black on black, his black shades, and his blonde hair was immaculately in place. Wesker smirked when Annabelle bit her lip, reaching behind him to open the passenger door. He watched her as debated before finally deciding to just go with her gut instinct of a few days ago and climbed into his car. Closing the door firmly behind her, he walked around to settle in the driver's seat while Annabelle shoved her bag in the backseat.

Wesker maneuvered the car onto a nearby freeway, the two sitting in silence. They continued that way for about an hour before Annabelle asked if she could turn on the radio. Wesker paused then stiffly nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. Annabelle played with the radio until she settled on a station playing songs with amazing beats that made her want to start dancing in her seat.

So she did. And it felt fabulous.

After a few more minutes of no conversation, she lowered the volume on the radio and turned her full attention to Wesker. He glanced at her as he looked into his side view mirror before changing lanes. Annabelle admired him behind the wheel, his confidence. She then admired his car. He did seem the type to drive a luxury car.

She decided to break the silence again. "Where are we going, Mr. Wesker?"

"Just Wesker," he replied, eyes calmly on the road while his right hand worked the stick shift. "I am Mr. only to other scientists." His voice did not hold the polite quality it had when they first met, nor did it hold the icy coldness it did when he spoke to his subordinates. It was neutral.

"Alright," she replied when Wesker did not answer her question. "Where are we going?"

Windshield wipers worked furiously to keep the rain from obstructing the window. "My research facility. There are rooms set up for you. There are things I would like to discuss with you."

Annabelle looked at him for a few moments. He guarded his emotions well, Annabelle could not decipher his goals. So she went for the direct approach. "What things?"

He cast a sardonic look at her before concentrating again on the road. "That, Ms. Davenport, should be obvious."

He had a point. They needed to discuss what happened at the mansion. Her abilities, and she had the attaché case for him. Perhaps he wanted an alliance with her. She smirked to think that she no longer was a little girl in a white dress leading them through a labyrinth, or a blond girl in a blue dress leading him on a tour. Could it be possible that Wesker thought of her as someone worth having an alliance with? She looked at him again, and could not decide if that was the case. She shrugged. She will know soon enough.

Her mind focused on something else. "I seems odd to me that you would call me Ms. Davenport, as I am not to call you Mr. Wesker."

Wesker flicked an eyebrow to concede her point. Glancing at her again and seeing her watch him still, he decided to indulge her. "Annabelle, then? Or Davenport to stick with surnames?"

The woman shuddered. "God, no. Anything but those."

Wesker frowned. "Then what am I to call you?" he demanded.

She could see he could be a man of little patience. Frowning, she thought for a few moments. She thought of possibilities and turned them away. Periodically, her mind would return to the feeling of when she was singing, how perfect it was and how blissful she felt.

"Melody," she said quietly. "Call me Melody. No Davenport. Just Melody."

If Wesker noted the influence of the karaoke bar in her choice of moniker, he said nothing.

"Melody, then."

Melody smiled then, and turned the music back up, humming along to it all through the long car drive.


	9. Next Story is UP!

Hello Fans of This Story!

Just wanted to let you know that I have JUST put up the next installment of this series – at least the first chapter. It's a long one, and the beginning of many more! This story is a top priority right now, so expect more on a fairly regular basis. Please read and review!

If you are reading this message at 7:27 Pacific Time on February 26, 2011, know that says it will take 4 to 6 hours for the story to be up and ready


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